


Broken

by Virtual_Reality



Series: Steve and Bucky through the years [14]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Bucky Barnes, M/M, Massage, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Feels, Steve Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 19:13:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3740410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virtual_Reality/pseuds/Virtual_Reality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Okay. Things happened. I'm sorry.</p><p>As far as this chapter goes, it is what it is. I haven't read through it, but I'm actually pleased with it (As of now.) I know it doesn't meet all the specifications, but my life was not good this evening, and I needed to write something quiet. Having an abusive parent is a bitch. That's all I'm saying.</p><p>Also, thanks for tolerating the last few updates, I know my writing hasn't been up to par this weekend.</p><p>Again, thanks for the positive feedback! I haven't had any negativity thus far and that statistic is very good on my anxiety. I'm overwhelmed by your kindness. Thanks again.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. Things happened. I'm sorry.
> 
> As far as this chapter goes, it is what it is. I haven't read through it, but I'm actually pleased with it (As of now.) I know it doesn't meet all the specifications, but my life was not good this evening, and I needed to write something quiet. Having an abusive parent is a bitch. That's all I'm saying.
> 
> Also, thanks for tolerating the last few updates, I know my writing hasn't been up to par this weekend.
> 
> Again, thanks for the positive feedback! I haven't had any negativity thus far and that statistic is very good on my anxiety. I'm overwhelmed by your kindness. Thanks again.

Bucky was resting against Steve's side, an arm resting around his shoulders as they watched a movie - Bucky's choice this time - in mutual silence. It had been a long day, and they were both tired. Content to lay in each other's arms, and rest.

Bucky's memories still seep in, slowly, painfully. He'd been addicted to the hallucinants and lord knows what else that had kept him in such a cold, blank state for so long, and the withdrawal symptoms gave him hell. The anxiety, and resulting panic attacks. His distance, and mood swings. His short temper, and emotional breakdowns. It was a roller coaster of recovery, and as far as Bucky was concerned, therapy was no longer an option for him. It was a constant source of frustration. Extra anxiety. It's no help to get counseling when you don't even know who you are.

His past is still spotty. He was too scared to remember if he's honest. Scared that it all wasn't real. That the past few months had only been a dream. That he'd wake up in that cold empty dungeon, his master standing over him with that frown that promised pain. And he wouldn't fight. It did no good, only bite down on his mouth guard, and await the fire in his brain, burning out all the sweet memories. He hated remembering things now. Stopped asking Steve about it, stopped researching it. Stopped letting himself get vulnerable, and cursed the necessity of sleep.

Steve tried to understand, and kept his distance, and while that's not what James wants. It's just not safe. He had both been avoiding all talk of the Winter Soldier, of The Asset, even of James. Anything that would trigger a memories that would force relapse. It was a hard time for both of them, and they didn't need to be reminded of that.

Steve had gotten no further explanation for any of Bucky's strange behavior, and Bucky's pushing him away was slowly becoming a normal thing. Steve refused to touch him sexually until he was granted an explanation, but Bucky offered none, simply accepting Steve's word as law, and letting his affection dwindle down to a friendlier level.

No matter how many times Steve reached out to him - or even tried to - Bucky refused his help. He didn't isolate himself, necessarily, but Steve felt like his presence made very little difference to Bucky, anyway. In most ways, things didn't change at all, Bucky was still cold, and distant most of the time, but when he opened up to Steve, he was at least physically affectionate.

When he opens up to the others, Steve is so proud of him, but then, he draws further away from Steve. He spends more time with Sam, and Clint. Then, when Sam talks to Steve about counseling, James pulls away from Sam. Steve wishes he understood why Bucky doesn't want him to know things. It's hard to be left in the dark. Especially by someone who used to tell him everything. It hurts. Everything hurts nowadays. Holding Bucky hurts. His chest aches for the familiarity he once had, and it's too far out of his reach. It's so hard to imagine starting from scratch with him - Bucky knew him better than anyone - or, he used to. Now he was little more than a kind stranger to him, and Steve has to accept that.

It hurts worse when Bucky doesn't let him hold him. The night Bucky didn't come to bed hurts. Knowing he was in bed with Clint - even if he wasn't doing anything but sleeping - hurts.

He tries not to let it get to him, tries not to let it show. Bucky could want who he wants. He could like whomever he chose to, and if that wasn't Steve... Well, it wasn't Steve. He doesn't have any fabricated notions about this anymore He knows Bucky doesn't love him, but it still hurts to know that it was all purely physical, at least for the time he had it, and while he may get James back, he may never have Bucky again.

All Steve wants is Bucky's safety - his happiness, but the idea that he might find that with someone else, hurts, and in the back of his mind, Steve can still hear Bucky's voice echo to him from back in thirty-seven:

"I know you're lonely, Stevie." He'd said, an arm around Steve's slender, bony shoulders, "I know it's hard." Steve had looked away, and Bucky had turned his face back with a finger, holding his jaw in his hand, stroking a thumb across his cheekbone. "You're strong, Stevie. You can beat this... You'll find a nice girl, and forget all about this." He smiled, letting his forehead rest against his for just a second and heat curled in Steve's belly, followed by the hot shame that made the nice feeling turn bitter. "But you know it can't be with me."

It had broken Steve's heart, and it was no easier to remember today. Polite rejection is still rejection, and it hurts Steve's heart to think he has to relive this. It had all worked out back then, but they had so much to go on, and now, Bucky barely even knows him.

Of course Clint wasn't here every day, so Bucky still stays with him most nights, but he's much more hesitant to cuddle with him now, kiss him, or even touch him.

Steve tries to respect the fact that James needs space, and he might need someone else to make him happy now, and planned his grocery shopping on an evening when Clint was there. That hadn't been difficult, not really, but taking his time had. Whatever they needed to get out of their system, they needed time for, so Steve tried to pace himself, giving them that time. He really didn't want to walk in on them, he doesn't think he can handle that.

When Steve can't stall any longer, he drives home, listening closely as he walks in, but the house is silent. He finds them in his bedroom again, Clint propped against his headboard, Bucky curled up along his legs, he's wearing one of Steve's sweatshirt, and fast asleep. Clint is playing a game on his phone, his fingers carding through Bucky's hair. Beside them is a book propped open halfway through.

Steve tried to remember he was respecting Bucky's choice by letting Clint stay with him, but he can't help the twinge of jealousy he feels observing the pair of them.

"He missed you," is all Clint says as way of explanation. He disentangles himself from Bucky, and climbs out of the bed. Bucky curls into a ball without him, bringing the sleeves of Steve's sweatshirt up to cover his face, inhaling deeply, and relaxing.

"How has he been?" Steve tries, letting his eyes glance over his vulnerable posture.

"It's going to take time," He plucks the book from the mattress, "Having someone pull you out of your own mind and play isn't something you can just forget." He grabs his coat up from the hook by the door. "Best thing you can do is make sure he doesn't feel alone. Get him a phone, buy him a puppy, do whatever you need to. Don't let him withdrawal."

Steve has no idea what to say, so he just nods. He'd forgotten about completely about Clint's compromise, and now he feels like an ass. It was obvious. Of course he could help Bucky. If anyone could it was him and 'Tasha.

"Thank you." Steve says, and Clint shrugs, slipping past Steve into the hallway.

"He's a good kid, a force of nature." Clint opens the door to the spare bedroom, "He'll be fine." He returns a minute later with a backpack. "Sam will be here by ten. You good?"

"That's fine."

Steve's new bed is enormous - of course they had to replace it soon after the frame was damaged, and Steve doesn't even touch Bucky as he settles on his side of the bed.

He doesn't make it far into the night before Bucky's shuffling wakes him, but he'll give him credit, he was a quiet, sneaky fella. Steve doesn't hear him until his bare feet are on the tile floor of the bathroom. He leaves the door wide open, and Steve watches the shadows that stretch across the carpet. He can hear the tempo of Bucky's breathing, see the struggle in his posture, and before Steve can think better of it, he moves to help him.

He found James grimacing at his reflection in the mirror, stretching, and twisting, fingers pressing into the tense muscles of his shoulder, "Just a cramp," Bucky grinds out, voice hoarse, and husky with sleep. Steve was at his side in an instant, his big warm hands rubbing his shoulder, thumbs working at the tense muscle, allowing Bucky the freedom of movement to stretch, and relax until the cramp subsided. Steve only caught a moment's glimpse of the pain in James' eyes, and he was pulling his hands back. "Thank you," James whispers, and Steve frowns. "Does it hurt you?" Steve asks softy. "I'm fine, Steve." Steve ignores that. "If I get something to help you relax - some painkillers - will you take it?" "You don't have to-" "Will you?" Bucky sighs, "Sure. Whatever, Steve. If you want to play doctor, I'll go along with it." Steve nods, and leaves him alone in the en suite. Bucky trudges quietly back to bed, sparing only a moment's glance at his reflection, he hates mirrors. It's only minutes before Steve is at his side on the bed with a glass of water, a towel, a few other things he sets on the side table, and a few small pills that Bucky takes without a second thought. Trusting Steve came as easily as breathing. "Let me give you a back rub." Steve asks quietly, "Please." James is so taken aback, he doesn't believe what he's heard until Steve asks permission a second time. He stares at him, dumbfounded. "Steve, you don't gotta-" "I want to." Steve insists, "Please." He hopes James doesn't feel obligated to accept, but he doesn't want him to feel like he's a burden, either. There's so much mental recovery to do, and Steve knows he isn't the best person to help with that, but he can give a simple back rub, and if that's the only way he can help, he wants to do it! "Okay," Bucky agrees quietly. "Okay, you can." Steve beams at him, and it makes James vaguely uncomfortable. He strips his shirt off for a reason to break eye contact, and hopes that will be enough skin for Steve. For something as vulnerable as a massage, James wants to be as covered as possible Steve kneels above Bucky as he settles in bed, and though he's very hesitant to touch him, he hates for Bucky to be in pain, and wants to help.

"Just... Tell me if something bothers you." Steve whispers.

Starting at Bucky's neck, Steve rubbed him down, spreading the oil he poured in his palm over James' warm skin. Bucky is tense, and there are knots in his neck and shoulder that Steve doesn't think he'll be able to get out, but he'll sure try

He was still a little surprised Bucky had allowed him to do this, but he's not complaining, though he doesn't think he's doing much good. At least not until James relaxes, but when he does, it makes all the difference. The touch is far from fleeting, and it's not exactly chaste, and it's not sexual, so that fits it in that category of touches he tries to avoid. Most of those touches come from Steve, and they make him remember things. Familiar, he thinks, is the best label for the category. Those touches that feel like this all means something. The ones that make it difficult for James to stay relaxed, especially feeling so exposed. Massage was very intimate, and it was overwhelming to feel how gentle Steve was, and remember how strong he is, how easily he could hurt him, but he's completely in control of himself - quite unlike James, but still... Letting Steve touch him was is scary. It's only fair, he supposes, Steve must feel the same way. Besides, Steve would never intentionally hurt him, but James had... James had tried to kill him. He'd shot him twice, he'd physically, intentionally beaten him. He doesn't even know how Steve can bear to look at him, remembering what he's done. It was hard to let Steve touch him so tenderly. James simply doesn't deserve it.

Steve's hands pause, and James feels the soft touch of lips to his left shoulder. "You're so tense." Steve whispers, and he let his lips brush the back of his neck. James realizes that the move is probably intended to help him relax, but it doesn't.

The pills do help, though.

It takes time for them to start working, long minutes of this wonderful torture. Of Steve's expert navigating of his sore, overworked back and shoulders. He hadn't had his arm worked on since he'd been away from Hydra, so his body hadn't had a moment's rest from its constant presence, if he ever has the luxury of getting someone of a good, or at least a neutral alliance to look it over, he'll ask for adjustments to be made so things like sleeping will be easier. His body simply isn't made to compensate for a prosthetic in his sleep.

When he finally does relax, Steve really puts his heart into it, taking him apart, soothing his pain, making the tension that rests unyielding on his shoulders lift for a few glorious minutes, and James can't help the little grunts of pleasure that leave his lips. As it turns out, the towel Steve brought is damp, and very warm, and it's placed over his shoulders as Steve moves down to the dip of his lower back, keeping him warm, and relaxed.

Steve is no professional, but James couldn't care less. Professional or not, for the first time in months, James feels relief, sweet, beautiful relief that was given to him by Steve of all people. Steve, who James already feels so indebted to, this quickly becomes too much.

The emotions are coming before he can prepare himself.

James allows himself to be suspicious, only for a moment, before he accepts that the pills Steve gave him truly were harmless, and accept that what he was feeling now was not drug induced. He accepts that he was the one being emotional, but it's difficult to recognize weaknes in himself. Emotions weren't necessary, and James hates them. They're stupid, and useless, and very unhelpful. And James is trembling with them. 

Steve is there, of course, he's always there. Soothing him before he has a chance to suffer. James doesn't like that, it makes him feel weak, and at the same time, he loves it. It's strangely liberating, allowing himself to feel after forcing indifference for so long, allowing himself to be comforted after being forced to seem untouchable by emotion, he only wishes it wouldn't make him feel so broken - look so broken in front of always perfect Steve.

Steve who is laid at his side, looking like he wants nothing more than to reach out to James, but not wanting to overwhelm him any further.

"Thank you." James says, to Steve's utter confusion, "Thank you, Steve. That really helped." He forces himself to say. His voice is raw, and thick with tears, but he still stayed strong. It was admirable to Steve, albeit unnecessary.

Almost as if it were to thank him, James opens his arms, and allows Steve to draw him close.

Even if it's just meaningless physical contact, even if it's just for tonight, Steve jumps at the chance to comfort Bucky, and holds him close, his palm rubbing a simple rhythm along the line of his spine, soothing him as he cried the last of his tears.

All at once, still holding Bucky, Steve remembers the struggle. It comes back to him like a tidal wave crashing onto the beach, taking all thoughts from his mind that weren't those old, painful memories. The pain of suppressed longing, and chaste physical contact, Bucky holding him like he was precious nearly every night after they'd moved in together. The secret little kisses they ignored. He remembers almost everything - the serum allowed for little less than peak performance - even though Steve is still fully human, his memory is like a steel trap.

He remembers being content with their chaste touches, and allows himself to think, just for a moment, that if Bucky would allow him these chaste moments again, he could endure. He'd do it a thousand times over for Bucky. He'd accept every second of pain, of rejection, of heartache. He'd take the struggle, the jealousy, and eventually, the withdrawal, if he can only have what they used to - a friendship closer than brotherhood, a love so raw it was painful - but a love that, through the pain, Steve was allowed to live, allowed to breathe, allowed to feel.

It was not a pretty future he painted for himself, but if he could spend it with Bucky, he could draw beauty from the pain. He'd learn to smile through the hurt, and hide the longing in his eyes, and after all this time, he'd have no less than what he started with so many years ago. The man he loved - the only one who could touch his soul just by looking in his eyes - at arm's length, yet somehow completely unreachable, forever.

It's a twisted view of happiness, but sometimes things have to be broken to reveal their beauty.


End file.
